Traditions for a New Age
by Maddog1
Summary: In the future Carl Grimes lays dying with his granddaughter at his side.


Traditions for a New Age

"The fireball was so big, the glass shattering made my ears buzz for days. Didn't yours, Sophia?" the old man's voice shook as he asked the question. A coughing spell, a razor sharp rattle in his chest, hit him, and he gasped for breath.

"It's Little Carol, Grandpa," she wiped her grandfathers' mouth with a wet cloth and then gently patted his cold hands. The old man's bed with its mismatched quilt was only a few feet from an old wood-burning stove, but the heat didn't seem to reach him. Carol, on the other hand, even dressed only in a light t-shirt and jeans, was sweating slightly. She watched another fit of coughing hit him, weaker this time, but so was his breathing after it passed. She wanted to know what the time was, but the wind-up clock was in the other room and she didn't want to leave her grandfather. Surely it had been more than an hour since she'd sent Dalie to get his uncles and the rest of their family?

It wasn't as if her brothers' homes were very far away. Human kind had lost the desire to live far from its own kin after the dead had begun to walk. When the disaster had struck, so many had lost their lives in a mad dash to get to family, to get to people who would protect you or do right by you no matter what. So much better in the here and now to just keep those related to you by blood and long friendship within arm's reach.

The old man's cough interrupted her thoughts. His breathing was even weaker now. He moaned slightly. "Thirsty."

"Here's some water." She put one arm under the frail man to lift him up slightly as she brought a glass to his lips. There was a worn and scratched yellow cartoon character on the side. As she gently laid her grandfather back down, he stuck out one shaky finger and touched the figure.

"Lives in a pineapple under the sea," the old man mumbled to himself, smiling slightly. His gaze drifted toward her.

"You're not still thinking of making a living scavenging off the city, are you?" he asked, his voice surprisingly strong.

"Grandpa, I haven't thought about doing that since I was fifteen! I'm a farmer," she replied with not a small amount of exasperation. He'd been asking that question a lot the last few weeks, as if the argument hadn't taken place more than twenty years before.

"Good, good," the old man took a raspy breath. "Don't care what nobody says, no way to get rid of all the roamers and lurkers. Too many buildings, too many places to hide. I saw it myself; so many places to wait and kill ya."

"We're all safe here, Grandpa," Little Carol reassured him. "We've got the traps, the moats, guards posted-we all know what to do."

"That's right. Not like when it first started: nobody knew nothing. One death after 'nother. Y'all know what to do now." He gazed into his granddaughter's eyes. "Right? You'll do for me?"

"Of course, Grandpa Carl, we love you," Little Carol bent over and gave the old man a kiss on the forehead. He gave her a weak smile and lifted his shaking hand an inch off the tattered quilt. She took the hand, squeezing it gently and he drifted back off, his weakening coughs the only noise in the old house. Carol wondered what was taking her family so long. She reached down and absentmindedly fingered the leather fringe on the bag sitting next to her feet.

"Carol?"

She glanced up at her brother's voice. She'd been aware of the door to the house opening and people coming in, but she hadn't wanted to leave the room quite yet.

"Good timing, Ty; he just passed." Carol smoothed the sheet she had wrapped tightly as a shroud around her grandfather's body, only the head remained exposed. Some of the hard lines of his face had smoothed out in death leaving him looking younger than he had in years. "What took so long? I must have sent Dalie out more than two hours ago."

"A lurker of all things," her brother sighed, "over by Ricky and Anna's place. One of the kids on guard duty spotted it earlier today, so a bunch of us were walking the perimeter to figure out how it slipped in."

"Nobody was hurt, were they?" Carol asked anxiously, relaxing as Ty shook his head. "Thank goodness."

"Passing of a generation," Ty said quietly, putting his hand on his grandfather's forehead. "Strange, though, he outlived Mama and Uncle Robert."

"Those that were alive when the dead began to walk, well, if the dead didn't get them, they tended to live a good long time. The generation after them, not as much," Carol replied parroting the often repeated conventional wisdom. Her own generation seemed to be doing better-vaccines for diseases such as tetanus and measles were making a comeback. Hopefully it would be better yet for her grandchildren.

"You ready?" Ty asked.

Carol nodded and picked up the bag at her feet.

Her brother picked up their grandfather and carried him into the next room. A table had been moved to the center of the room, and covered in a waxed tarp. Ty gently laid the body down and took a step back.

Most of Carl Grimes' family were gathered in the living room; there wasn't time to wait for any more to arrive. Carl's childhood friends were long since gone, either from the dangers of the apocalypse or from one of the diseases of old age that were no longer easily treatable. His children had died relatively young- of things that, if they had happened when Carl was seven and the dead stayed dead, would have involved nothing more elaborate to cure than a visit to the doctor and a round of antibiotics.

Tonight Carl was surrounded by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As the oldest in the family, it was Little Carol's duty to do right by her kin. She took a deep breath and went to stand by the body.

"Carl Grimes was a good man, an honest man. He was a lawman, like his father," she said. "He loved his wife and his family and he made us all a real good life here." Carol needed to keep this short; you never knew just how much time you had. "And we loved him very much."

Little Carol reached into the bag she was carrying to draw out the medium caliber pistol that she had carefully cleaned and loaded earlier when she realized her grandfather would not see another day. What had destroyed Grandpa Carl's world had never stopped; whatever caused the dead to walk was still with them. And if you had family, they would do right by you when you died.

She placed the gun against her grandfather's temple and pulled the trigger.


End file.
